Inquisitiveness

Daniel was introduced to a new concept in a book he read recently – Insurance. Consequently, I’ve been subjected to some probing about the topic. I've always struggled a little trying to describe the intricacies of such things to little people, especially Daniel.

It's not that the subject is particularly intricate, so it might come across as sounding a little curious when I say I hesitate to launch into it, it's just that I know what Daniel's like. If there are intricacies or anomalies to be found around a concept that's new to him, he will find them. He won't ever settle for some half-baked explanation. My Mum will no doubt read this and feel a flush of remembrance (and relief that it's over) because that's exactly what I was like as a child. I wasn't called "I.Q." because I was intelligent, though I was happy to wear that badge proudly amongst the uninformed. It actually meant "Inquisitive Queen."

The thing is, Daniel's need to understand everything in great detail equates to my own desire to be able to tell him everything. Unless there is something to divulge that isn't age-appropriate, I'd like to be in a position to quench his thirst for knowledge. I'd like to be able to cover his elected topics to the degree it will do them enough justice to elicit a comprehensive understanding. It's a two-sided strategy. On the one hand, I feel a personal need to validate my own intelligence. On the other hand, I don't want to be backed into a corner by his, unable to bring forth a conclusive answer that will satisfy his inquisition.     

I still bear the emotional and intellectual scars from the suffering I endured as a child when my brother repeatedly called me an ignoramus. The first time he called me that, I remember going to get the dictionary from my Dad's desk so I could find out what the word meant. In a nutshell, it means a person who doesn't know anything; one who is unlearned. Because I've always had an inherent determination to know everything, that was a particularly cruel tease for me. I can forgive my brother for it now because I'm sure he never intended for it to be malicious or psychologically damaging - he probably didn't even know what the word meant himself, really. However, the fact I still remember it 35 years after the incident indicates to me that it lurks deep in my subconscious, and this I feel is what rises to the surface when I'm interrogated by Daniel. It's one thing my brother thinks I'm an ignoramus but quite another for my son to believe it. One of the great leverages we have as parents is that our children think we know everything, at least in their formative years.  

I must confess, I do have a tendency with my children to adopt a 'fob-off' approach around matters of technical curiosity if possible, which basically means if my husband is home. He's a lot more patient and able when it comes to transferring information associated with that realm. Besides, he just knows more about 'stuff' like that than I do, so his coverage of content is likely to be a lot more thorough than mine. His presence has been my saviour on many occasions in terms of my being able to retain the omniscient aura I present to my children. It's a good partnership really, because my strength lies in discussing more philosophical, ethereal matters. I happy to invest a great deal of time indulging in conversations of that nature with my children - there is never a wrong answer.

Anyway, back to the question on insurance, which had become pressing. We were midway through a long car trip at the time and Dad wasn't there so I couldn't apply the fob-off technique. I'd forgotten to take my iPod along for the trip too, so there was silence to be filled and no valid justification for me to not respond. Elliot was in the back seat urging the subject on, having suddenly acquired an equally passionate, albeit passively, desire to understand what this insurance thing was all about.

I decided to start with a simple approach. "OK, so we pay money every year to a company who 'insures' our car. That means if I crash the car, the same  company will give us enough money to replace it." I was pleased that it sounded quite simple and easily understood once I'd said it. "What if you die in the crash, who gets the money?" Daniel said. You see, this is why I don't like having these conversations with him. Because I didn't know the answer. Who does get the money if I die in a car that I've personally insured? I figured in the (brief) silence that followed, it would probably go to my 'estate' and be sorted out via my will... but that just brings forth a labyrinth of issues I wasn't really inclined to discuss with him. But do you think the probing stopped there? No, it did not. Elliot's contribution to the discussion was "Cool, we'd get to buy a new car," like he thought it was akin to a lotto win.

We talked about the other things that could be insured. We covered contents insurance, which left Elliot feeling very aggrieved about whether he'd be able to replace Cookie in the event of a fire. Cookie being his bed-time buddy since birth, who ranks No.1 on his list of all time favourite people - one above me. I told him that sadly some things could never be replaced and then spent some time trying to explain the difference between value and money.  Remember, I was probed - I didn't invite this grief upon him.  

Daniel hadn't let go of the loss of life issue. Thankfully I'd managed to swerve him away from the previous  vehicle insurance intricacy, only because there was a lot more yet to be understood around the main topic. So we moved on to life insurance. I continued, "That means if I die, Dad gets heaps of money, and if Dad dies, I get heaps of money." Naturally the question that followed was, "What if you both die?" Sigh. That brings us back to wills again, and whether they are of an appropriate age to inherit the money or not. I decided to skip the part about guardianship and all that jazz, and leaped to assuming they'd both be adults in the tragic event their parents died simultaneously. Lovely conversation we were having. Wish I'd brought my iPod. Daniel reached back to Elliot and gave him a high-five! "Awesome, we'll be rich!" They obviously have no idea we have no money because we're still paying off our house. Which begged the question for me - if we both die, does life insurance still apply and would they still get money? My mind was mush at that point.

I decided it was an appropriate time to ask a poignant question to get their minds (and mine) back on track. "Would you rather have a Mum and Dad alive, or heaps of money?" One of them answered, "Mum, don't be silly, of course you know the answer to that." The other one answered, "Depends really... how much money are we talking." I'm going to assume that was an attempt at humour.

Mum’s the Word:

What I'd really like to be able to do is insure my children. To ensure they'll live long and happy lives, and always remain delightfully inquisitive.

Social Networking

My nephew sent me a friend request via Facebook recently. It would have been rude not to accept, particularly as he pro-actively labelled me publically as his Aunty... pending acceptance (?). It was my first Facebook request from a teenager, so I was intrigued to catch a glimpse into the 'goings on' of the new-age online. My first insight was intriguing... upon acceptance (thereby officially his Aunty), I noticed I was his 260^th friend. He’s 13 years old. Either something has dramatically changed in terms of the process by which the new generation make friends, or the definition of friendship itself has changed.

Friend [noun]: a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard; a person who gives unconditional assistance or support as needed.

It seems the definition hasn't changed. I consider I fit the bill with regard to being his friend in terms of the current Oxford interpretation. I reflected though that when I was his age, I could probably have counted on two hands the people who held that status in my world. So he’s doing exceptionally well to have amassed such a vast quantity at such a young age;  I assume his 'friends' constitute the majority of his school role. Which begs the question: do children today understand the true nature of friendship... are they able to distinguish clearly between their authentic friends, and their sometimes, when-I-feel-like-it or when-I'm-online friends? Or has the internet age that has delivered to us social networks like Facebook distorted their view to the degree that their quantity of friends holds more 'cred' and kudos than their quality? Without a doubt, something has definitely changed. I'm certain the shift in perspective has been driven by technology, but am currently undecided about whether it's a good or a bad thing in terms of social development.

Certainly, the children of this generation have access and exposure via IT devices that deliver to them an enormous, practically limitless 'ethereal' playing field that extends well beyond the strict perimeters of the school yards we used to kick a ball around in our day. I can appreciate how alluring that must be to an easily stimulated adolescent trying to win friends and influence people. I don't doubt that freedom of expression and exploration can be a positive thing to some degree, but I do believe that unforeseen consequences could accompany it, so there is a balance of responsibility that must be considered around the freedom.

When I was young, I didn't have the luxury of 'poking' my friends remotely from my computer when I wanted to make contact. I used to call them on the phone. It was a pretty radical, direct approach. When we met (in person), we'd have an actual discussion. If one of us said something the other particularly liked or didn’t like, it was obvious by our facial expressions. We would laugh or frown, or make some other human gesture that gave us an indication as to how the conversation should progress. We always kept it within the bounds of mutual respect and social acceptance. These days on Facebook, we're gifted with the awesome power to make a one-directional comment, sometimes fearlessly bold and liberated, which allows us to extend ourselves beyond the boundaries of what we might dare to say in 'real life.' There are no immediate consequences. One or more of our friends might ‘like’ our comment, which is naturally fabulous and self-fulfilling. However, for a sensitive and impressionable young soul, it's not a far stretch to assume that if one of our friends didn't ‘like’ our comment, it must mean they disliked it. There is no allowance for absence or apathy, nor any allowance for a mutually reasoned, healthy discussion around a subject. Even if an abbreviated word exchange does result from a comment, voice intonation and expression are missing, so the potential for misinterpretation is rife. So trapped forever in the 'ether' are the insecurities of impressionable souls... freed only by real-life connections and communications.

I confess there were times in my susceptible youth when I felt a pinch of friendship insecurity. It's something we've all felt throughout our lives at some stage or another. For example, if I agreed to meet a friend to ride our bikes to school together and she didn’t show up at the arranged time and place (there were no mobile phones in those days to alert me to any variation in plan), I'd worry she'd gone with someone else, or just forgotten about me. What concerns me in this age of Facebook is that there's a risk one might feel insecure simply as a result of someone not liking their comment. Or God Forbid, someone not accepting their friend request when they'd put themselves out there. And what of the more recent Facebook application: “Top Friends,” which enables people to exclusively mark their 'favourite' friends so they’ll stand out from the crowd. How crushing would that be to someone who thought they were one of your ‘top friends,’ only to find out they hadn’t been marked? I’m genuinely concerned that the Facebook phenomenon (and IT advancement in general) has brought with it the potential for a plethora of new social psychological issues that make it a good time to consider re-training as a psychiatrist or a counsellor. In fact, it might be a good career path to encourage my children to pursue... it could set them up for life.

I worry that our children's access to the internet and social sites will seriously diminish their chances to develop real social skills. I don't doubt they'll still make some genuine friends the same old fashioned way that we used to, but I think the "Facebook" age could ironically expose them to greater risk of potential bullying, insecurity, and isolation.  I also believe attachment to social networks could easily become an addiction. The compulsion to go online at every opportunity could override the more healthy alternative of arranging human contact, which in my view is far more fulfilling and rewarding.

Having said all of the above, I do subscribe to Facebook myself. But in my defence, I employ in parallel the old school tactic of making phone-calls to my friends. I must say though that even amongst my own generation, I think phone communication is becoming a dying art. We all have busy lives and it's definitely easier to drop a message online than to make a call, but  personally I don't think that can ever replace hearing someone's voice. And a Facebook hug can ever replace a real hug, from a real friend - you know, the kind who would take you in if your house burned down. 

Of course, it could just be that I'm an old fossil, and my nephew will read this and think... whatever. Either way, I'm just going to have to flow with it, because it's here; it is what it is. What I do know is that without question I'll make sure my children 'befriend' me when they're eventually old enough to join Facebook. I need to be amongst (albeit passively) the 'in' crowd when a party invitation goes viral, especially if it's at my house. And I'll need to make sure I have my real friends on speed dial if my house burns down as a consequence.  

Mum’s the Word:

Social networking is inevitable. It's already happening, and our children won't escape it's claws. It’s our responsibility as parents to make sure they at least grow up learning the value of true friendship and the art of face-to-face socialisation. 

Birthdays

 

I just kissed my 6-year old goodnight for the last time. He’s 7 tomorrow! Note to Universe:  Please stop the world for a while, I need more time to relish the moments (well, not all of them – it is the school holidays after all, so I’d happily waver some of the more recently frustrating moments for more uplifting times, but you know what I mean). My children are growing up so quickly, I’m afraid to blink sometimes. 

 

It’s been a day of party-prep. Elliot ran into my room very excited early this morning, jumped into my bed and greeted me (ie. woke me up) with “It’s my birthday tomorrow! I love you SO much Mum!” Wow, I thought, what a fabulous way to be woken up. Then he snuggled down and continued: “You know that chocolate cake you’ve made? I’ve been thinking about it and I’d really prefer a strawberry ice-cream cake.” Hmm, I thought, he’s not quite 7 and already he’s engaging in the traditional male tactic of buttering me up first to soften the impact, prior to delicately delivering his self-fulfilling request. It rang a familiar tune – my husband tried the very same technique on me recently before saying he’d like to upgrade his motorbike.

 

What kind of Mum am I? A soft one apparently... the kind that actually considered his request seriously enough to run through a few scenarios about how I could source a strawberry ice-cream cake as the final curtain was closing prior to his big day. After all, I suppose I could freeze the chocolate one I’d already laboured over... it might be nice to have up my sleeve to use as a lunchbox filler when school starts back. Fortunately for me, my head kicked my heart into touch as I remembered all the other party treats and games I had to make and plan that day, and I managed to convince him during our under-duvet mutterings and cuddles that the chocolate cake would have to do. I’d like to think he still loves me SO much, despite my subtle denial of his request. I can’t have him growing up thinking a bit of loving and eye-lash fluttering is all it takes to get what he wants – can I?!

 

Today has made me reflect on how one day in the life of a Mother can fluctuate with such wild ebbs and flows; how one moment can ignite such a delightful sensation of peace and wellbeing, only to be followed shortly afterwards by utter despair and hopelessness. Within an hour of our heavenly morning bonding session, I was threatening to cancel his birthday party altogether because of his outrageous and disagreeable behaviour. Something to do with not getting his fair share of time on the “Wii,” or something of that nature; I lose track. And so the day progressed... like a roller coaster of love on the up, despair on the down, and anxiety around the bends, never knowing what’s coming next. It’s no wonder I feel exhausted sometimes. To top it all off at the end of the day, now that he’s gone to bed, I’m left feeling shades of guilt that I had to resort to making threats that might jeopardise his party – but he made me do it - if I could ‘tell on him’, I would, but who would I tell? I’m the only one in my house that gets ‘told to.’  Meanwhile, I have absolutely no doubt that he’s currently blissfully drifting off to sleep, knowing full well that his party will go ahead as planned. Oh the euphoria of going to sleep with the awareness there is someone in your life who loves you so unconditionally, you can wake up every new day knowing you are cloaked with the same depth of love you were smothered in the first day you were born. That’s the beauty of a mother/child relationship – there is never a ‘hangover’ in the morning. Every new day is fresh, with infinite love fully replenished and restored.

 

This time 7 years ago, I’d been in hospital for 2 weeks, secretly fearing for my life as I waited desperately for Elliot to be born. I begged the doctors to deliver him early because I couldn’t bear the thought of an unexpected arrival triggering my demise. Well, he was worth waiting for... and his gift to me on his real birth day was his safe arrival into this world, and his safe delivery into my heart. For that, I can forgive the slight misdemeanours that have occurred between then and now... because he gave me a gift on that day I could never equal as long as I live. 

 

Mum’s the Word:

Birthdays should always be about reflection and joy. If there were no birthdays, there would be no children. And if there were no children, they’d be a lot less in this world to celebrate.